


Don't You Know

by Kangofu_CB



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angsty backstories, Cop Drama, Eventual Smut, FBI agents, Fluff and Smut, I did a lot of googling, M/M, a birthday fic for a friend, armed robberies, badassery, because of course, but the fic itself is very happy, i know nothing about either of these things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:46:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: Cop!Duo meets SpecialAgent!Wufei in this fluffy rom-com.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoodIdeaAtTheTime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodIdeaAtTheTime/gifts).



> Birthday present for the best of all beta readers, friends, and human beings - ChronicWhimsy. I hope you have a wonderful birthday, because you deserve nothing but the best.
> 
> Fic inspired by my warped brain and the song "Don't You Know" by Jaymes Young. Give it a listen, if you're so inclined.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wufei and Duo meet under somewhat stressful circumstances, but they work it all out.

Wufei glanced around as he walked into the small coffee shop, taking in the mismatched decor and cacophony of voices and accents, and winced.  He was practically dying for a shot of caffeine to help combat the intense jet lag he was currently experiencing.  

 

He’d been in New York for just 48 hours, and already his new supervisor expected him to report in today, despite the fact that Wufei was almost certain there was some sort of regulation requiring he get at least a 72 hours furlough.  At the very least it would be a common courtesy.

 

It didn’t bode well for their future interactions.

 

Assistant Director Lovisa Une had something of a reputation.  Agents she _didn’t_ like told horror stories of terrible cases, worse partners, and often ended up in the least desireable post available for their next field office assignment.  Agents she _did_ like seemed to find their career paths degreased, doors opened to supervisory positions, and career making cases landing on their desks.

 

Wufei was hoping to be one of the latter.

 

As he took his place in line he pulled his phone out of his pocket to text Yuy and find out if he was suffering  similar symptoms, and offer him some sort of pick me up as well.  Not that the other agent would accept, preferring his homemade smoothies and holistic remedies, but it was the thought that counted.

 

Probably.

 

He was halfway through the text when the shop doors burst inward, tattooed, bandana-wearing, gun waving men shouting at everyone to get down.

 

Three years of being stationed at the Embassy in Amman had left him with hair-trigger reflexes, and he was under the table of the nearest cramped booth, reaching for a weapon _he didn’t fucking have,_ before his brain made the connection.

 

He was on United States soil, for god’s sake, and he hadn’t even been issued a sidearm yet.

 

He peeked around the edge of the creased, ancient vinyl, looking for the criminals. He could hear loud, heavily accented English, interspersed with Spanish - one of the languages he _didn’t_ speak, of course - but he couldn’t get a good glimpse of the would-be robbers.

 

He scooted back in a hurry as a civilian dived under the table with him, long rope of hair dangling over their shoulder, in a leather jacket and well-worn jeans.

 

They turned towards him and the cocky grin on a unmistakably masculine face quickly disabused him of the vague notion that it was a woman.  Violet eyes flickered over him appraisingly as the man dug a chain out of his shirt to display a gold NYPD badge.

 

“You a field agent or just a desk jockey?”

 

Wufei spluttered, momentarily taken aback.  “Special Agent,” he answered, reflexively, watching as the other man tucked the badge away again and dug out a _decidedly_ non-regulation, black matte sidearm from the back of his faded, ripped jeans.

 

It was, quite obviously, not a standard issue weapon.

 

“What the hell are you _doing_?” Wufei hissed, watching as he checked the magazine and slide.

 

“Gonna put a stop to this situation ‘fore it gets outta hand.  I know these guys.”  He paused, thoughtfully, before amending his statement.  “Well I know guys _like_ these guys.  I work the gang unit.  I already called this in, but once the boys in blue show up this is going to be a shit show and a hostage situation.  And if I pegged you for a Fed when you walked in the door, you can bet your ass they will too, and ask me if I think we’re going to live long in that situation.”  

 

“Alright, what are you planning?”  The question was begrudgingly asked, Wufei unhappy to both realize and acknowledge he was out of his area of expertise, and recognizing the other man made several good points.

 

Another self-sure grin, and a wink.

 

“I’m gonna go make a few friends.  You stay here, play nice until you get my signal, then maybe come give me a hand huh?”

 

He gave Wufei another long appraisal, the smirk turning a bit self-satisfied, the look less clinical and more heated, and then he was gone, gun tucked away in the front of his jeans, hands up in the air, non-threatening as he called out to the robbers.

 

In Spanish.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

Wufei sighed, edging his way out from under the table to crouch on the floor at the edge of the booth, where he could at least _see_ the exchange.  There were three gangbangers near the counter, harassing the barista, weapons pointed and a duffle bag on the counter, their intentions clear.

 

Wufei rolled his eyes.  What they expected to get at 7am before the morning rush was even _over_ was beyond him, and the shop was infinitesimally small, just a hole in the wall that was close to his hotel.

 

Listening to the cop talk, watching the way he casually inserted himself into the situation, Wufei was impressed. He didn’t know what was being said, but the syllables rolled smoothly from the tall braided man’s lips, fluent and rich, and it sounded amazing in his deep voice.

 

The cocksure way he carried himself, and the way the jeans fit didn’t hurt matters either.

 

Abruptly, Wufei realized this was not the time for his mind to wander.

 

He still didn’t know what signal he was supposed to be-

 

Suddenly, the braided man lashed out, wrenching the wrist of the gun wielding man closest to him, forcing him to drop the weapon, pulling until the guy went to the ground, kicking out at the next closest robber, the boots he was wearing obviously making an impression as the other man went down, cradling his knee.  That left the third man, just out of reach, who was swinging his own weapon around from where he’d been pointing it at the barista, and Wufei figured that was as good a signal as any as he barreled towards him from his position by the booth.

 

He was too far away by a large margin to prevent the shot, but maybe he could foul the guy’s aim enough-

 

His shoulder made contact with the other man’s ribcage just as the gun went off and Wufei didn’t have time to turn and look, simply following the man as he spun, reaching for his elbows, jerking them behind his back and pinning the man down with his knee, panting.

 

Only then did he look up to check on his coincidental partner’s status.  

 

The other man was standing over his prisoners, booted foot on the first one’s back, gun pointed at the other man, who was holding his hands shoulder high hesitantly.  He cut his eyes Wufei’s way.

 

“What the fuck man, you couldn’ta just yelled ‘freeze’?”

 

Wufei had the grace to look slightly chagrined.  “I don’t have my sidearm yet.”

 

Eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline, the cop turned disbelieving eyes on him and opened his mouth, just as sirens screamed onto the street outside and a flood of blue uniforms filed into the room.

 

“Stand down boys,” a feminine voice shouted over the din, amusement heavy in her voice, “it’s just Maxwell again.”

 

There was a chorus of groans.

 

And a very quiet, “You owe me fifty bucks,” followed by muttered cursing.

 

Wufei turned back to the cop - Maxwell, he remembered - who at least looked mildly mortified, and quirked his eyebrow.

 

The other man winked at him again.

 

It was about that time that Wufei realized Maxwell was bleeding.  He jerked his chin at the man’s right arm. Maxwell followed his gaze and then huffed in annoyance as two uniformed officers came and took the two men at his feet into their possession.  He tucked the gun away into his waistband, flicking the safety as he did so, and fingered the hole in his sleeve, ignoring the blood that was slowly saturating the brown leather.

 

“I _liked_ this jacket,” and it was very nearly a whine.

 

Wufei rolled his eyes.

 

“Detective Maxwell,” the voice was smooth and sardonic, and the crowd of uniforms parted to let a tall, slim man wearing sergeants’ stripes pass through, “aren’t you off duty this week?”

 

The long haired cop - and, Wufei wondered, how did he get away with that hair anyway? - winced theatrically, before turning with a wide grin on his face, arms spread in welcome.  “Tro!” He called, cheerfully, “it’s been a while.”

 

The sergeant arched his eyebrow.

 

“Uh, I mean, hello Sergeant Barton, how are you today? I am on vacation. I was just getting coffee, wandered into an armed robbery.”

 

“With your sidearm?”

 

“Nope, no, definitely didn’t bring my firearm to the coffee shop, no sir, must have grabbed this off one of the goons.”

 

Wufei snorted very, very quietly.

 

Not quietly enough, though.

 

“And who’s your new friend?”

 

Maxwell grimaced, Wufei echoing the feeling.  He’d hoped to be left out of this.

 

“Ah, this is Special Agent-”

 

“Chang!”

 

It was Wufei’s turn to wince, Heero’s voice cutting easily through the noise, his muscular build similarly paving the way as he flashed his badge and barged into the room.

 

“Special Agent Chang,” Wufei offered, lamely as Heero forced his way to his side.  “And this is my partner, Special Agent Yuy.”

 

Heero and Barton eyed each other briefly, nodding almost in tandem, both of them turning to their respective wayward law enforcement officers.

 

“Une is going-”

 

“Captain Po probably-”

 

They were interrupted by the same voice that had boisterously announced Maxwell’s name.  “Duo’s bleeding.”  She sounded inordinately cheerful about it, Wufei thought.

 

“Goddammit, Schbeiker,” Maxwell muttered.

 

“Just lookin’ out for you, buddy boy,” the woman responded, clapping him on the back, blue eyes sparkling.

 

“Sh’yeah, more like lookin’ out for your wallet.”

 

Wufei watched as she wandered back over to the remaining officers to relay the update, cheerfully accepting cash from disgruntled losers.

 

Barton’s sigh was long suffering.  “Head over to Presby and get checked out.  I’m sure you need stitches.”

 

Maxwell waggled his eyebrows.  “I’ll tell Cathy you said hi.”

 

“She’s gonna tell the doc not to use any lidocaine this time, idiot.”

 

“Cathy loves me,” he shrugged, tugging the jacket off to look at his arm.  The gash was wide but shallow, from what Wufei could see, and oozing steadily.

 

“Here,” he offered, gruffly, digging a handkerchief out of his pocket.

 

The other man looked up in surprise, accepting the white square of cloth.  “Of fucking _course_ you have a handkerchief,” he muttered, tying it around his arm.

 

Wufei didn’t even know how to take that.

 

Heero glanced up from his furious texting to look thoughtfully between the two of them.  The phone dinged in his hand and Heero glanced down to read it, brow furrowed.

 

“Go with him,” Heero said, shortly, looking at Wufei.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“What?!” Maxwell asked at the same time.

 

“Une wants to be sure you weren’t injured in the line of duty,” Heero said, flatly.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

“Fine.”  He turned back to the braided cop.  “Shall we?  I assume you know the way.”

 

Shrugging companionably, Maxwell shot Barton a sarcastic little salute, flipping Schbeiker the bird as they scooted out the back exit of the shop.

 

Maxwell led them through back alleys and side streets at a brisk pace, avoiding the press and the crowd gathered around the coffee shop with practiced ease, much to Wufei’s relief, and they traveled the first five minutes in silence, Wufei trying to orient himself, and Maxwell navigating the city sidewalks, jacket tossed casually over his shoulder, where it hid the wound on his arm.

 

Wufei ended up on the other man’s left, realizing with a start that he’d been viewing him from the right this entire time, and he was surprised to see the glint of an earring in his ear, and the edges of dark ink creeping out from the short sleeve of his shirt.  

 

“So,” Maxwell said, after they were back near the main streets and had slowed their pace to something more like a sedate stroll.  “I’m Duo.”

 

Snorting a laugh, Wufei offered him his hand.  “Wufei.”

 

“Thanks for your help back there.”

 

Wufei shrugged.  “You didn’t give me much choice.”

 

Duo laughed.  “True.  Your timing could have been a little better though.”

 

“You could have given me a bit more warning or a better signal.”

 

The other man bumped his shoulder companionably.  “Nah, you did alright.”

 

He got a strange sense of pride combined with annoyance at the words.

 

When they got to the hospital, the triage nurse took one look at them, Duo’s bloodied arm, Wufei’s hair and clothes in disarray, and rolled her eyes.  Duo grinned at her cheekily as she picked up her phone to dial out.  A few minutes later a redhead came bustling out from the locked ER and gave Duo a harried look.

 

“What have you done to yourself this time?  And what have you done to him?”

 

“He got shot,” Wufei volunteered, “but I’m fine.”

 

Duo gave him a dark look.

 

“It’s just a flesh wound,” he muttered.

 

She led them out of the triage area into something she called the ‘RTC’ (rapid treatment center, Duo murmured to him as they crossed the threshold) and parked both of them in a small room with a connected toilet before she breezed out again.  Duo settled himself on the half bed, crossing his legs on the seat, and leaning back against the reclined backrest.  

 

“Might as well make yourself comfortable man, she’s gonna make us wait.”

 

“Don’t wounds have to be stitched within a certain about of time?”

 

Duo gestured vaguely.  “Yeah, yeah but it’s like six hours or something.”

 

Wufei settled into the uncomfortable plastic chair in the room, resigning himself to a long wait.

 

Surprisingly she was back in less than an hour, a fresh-faced young doctor in tow.

 

“Aw, c’mon Cath, I saved some lives today,” Duo whined, looking alarmed.

 

“Yeah?” She asked.  “Well, I did too.  This is Dr. Barker.  He’s a plastics resident.”

 

Duo perked up at that, though Wufei didn’t quite understand the interaction.

 

“Alright,” she said, “strip.”

 

Wufei started to get up and leave, to go _somewhere_ , but froze as Duo reached down and tugged the shirt over his head, hissing as it pulled on his wound.  

 

He stared, dumbfounded, as a riot of ink, smooth muscle, and the occasional scar was revealed.

 

Luckily, Duo was focused on the nurse.  “It’s just my arm, Cath, no one even touched me.”

 

“Shut up,” she said, whipping out a stethoscope and giving him a very thorough exam, including prodding his chest for broken or bruised ribs.  Meanwhile, the doctor was setting up a simple tray, drawing medications up in syringes and pulling out wicked looking curved needles.  

 

Duo seemed entirely unconcerned.

 

Turning to Wufei, Cathy said, “Alright, your turn, Macho Man.”

 

“Wait, what?’

 

“Strip.  The shirt at least.”

 

“Better do what she says, man, or she’s gonna make you wear a gown and get scans and shit.”

 

“I’ll text Trowa,” she added, as though that were some sort of deterrent.

 

Wufei leaned over to look askance at Duo, the other man ignoring the young doctor currently applying stitches to his arm in a neat row.

 

“Aw, Cathy, he’s not a cop, he’s _Special Agent_ Chang,” Duo snickered, “so you can’t sic your brother on him.  Still,” he paused thoughtfully, eyeing Wufei, “your partner was with Tro when we left, and she could probably get to him that way.  Definitely better to just do what she says,” he advised, finally, and with a sigh, Wufei stood and untucked his shirt, reaching for the buttons.

 

He didn’t miss the look Duo was giving him under his lashes.

 

Putting on more of a show than he might otherwise have done, Wufei stripped the shirt off his shoulders, pausing to fold it up and set it aside before he held his arms out in invitation.  

 

If he was looking at Duo instead of Cathy while he did it, well, who could blame him?  The other man was trailing a very heated gaze across his bare skin, fingers twitching where they rested on his knees.

 

“See,” he said, “not a mark on me.”

 

Cathy snorted, performing a perfunctory exam, and, finding no obvious injuries, told him he could get dressed again.  

 

“But if you're planning to continue providing a free floor show, let me go get some of the other nurses. They'll be very appreciative.” She called over her shoulder as she strode back out into the hallway.

 

Wufei flushed hotly, thrusting his arms into his sleeves, even as Duo eyed him speculatively.

 

“Ok, Mr. Maxwell, you’re all set,” the doctor said, oblivious to the byplay in the room, as he stripped his sterile gloves off.  “Keep it dry and covered for the next few days and follow up with your PCP to have the stitches removed.  I can write you a prescription for-”

 

“Nah, I’m good,” Duo interrupted, hopping off the table and tugging his shirt over his head, grimacing at the bloodstain on the sleeve.  “It’s not my first rodeo, doc, and I don’t need any pain pills.  Thanks for stitching me up.”

 

The doctor shook Duo’s hand before striding out of the room, seemingly in a hurry to get back to his regular patients.

 

Before Duo or Wufei could say anything else, Cathy reappeared, carrying a small brown bottle and a sheaf of papers requiring Duo’s signature.  

 

She briskly dabbed what turned out to be hydrogen peroxide on Duo’s sleeve, the bloodstain disappearing like magic, a trick Wufei filed away for future reference that he hoped he wouldn’t need.

 

Holding the paperwork out to Duo, she waited impatiently while he scrawled a barely legible signature with practiced ease, not even needing to be told where to sign.

 

“Try to keep out of trouble for the rest of your vacation Duo,” she said, giving him a one-armed hug.  Turning to Wufei she winked.  “And try not to let him get you _into_ trouble, Special Agent Chang.”

 

As she breezed back out of the treatment room, Duo snagged his jacket from where he’d draped it on the exam table and began following her out.  “So,” he began, looking at Wufei from the corner of his eye, “you wanna grab lunch?”

 

Wufei blinked at him in surprise.  

 

His reply - not that he was entirely certain what it would have been - was interrupted by the jangle of the phone in his pocket.  Pulling it out, Heero’s frowning countenance glared up at him from the screen, and Wufei slid the “accept” button over and held it to his ear.

 

“Chang.”

 

“What’s the prognosis?”

 

Wufei rolled his eyes.  “I’ll live,” he answered dryly.

 

Duo snickered.

 

“Good.  Une wants you in her office in half an hour to debrief.”

 

“I’ll be there.”  He hung up without waiting for a reply.

 

This was not at all how he’d expected this day to go.

 

“Rain check?” Duo offered, face hopeful.  He’d obviously either heard or guessed at the instructions Wufei had received.

 

Wufei hesitated for a split second. He didn't want to seem too eager, too desperate for company. But he was new to the city and Duo was offering…

 

“Sure.”

 

Duo held his hand out expectantly and it took Wufei a moment before he understood he was to hand over his cell phone.  It was his only phone, and he used it for work more than personal matters. Passing it over reluctantly, he watched as Duo briskly navigated through the screens and presumably programmed himself into the contacts before returning it.

 

Out on the street again, they moved to split off in opposite directions, Wufei in need of a cab and Duo heading off to, well, wherever it was he was going.

 

“See you around Chang,” Duo grinned, giving Wufei another of the heated, promising looks he’d subjected him to in the coffee shop as he turned away.

 

Wufei certainly hoped so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know next to nothing about the following things:  
> 1\. NYPD  
> 2\. FBI  
> 3\. NYC  
> 4\. NY Presby (though I do know quite a lot about hospitals in general, so work with me.)  
> 5\. Embassies  
> 6\. Basically anything in this fic. I made it all up ok? All of it. 
> 
> I know that Une's "canon" name is Cordelia, but I reject all things Frozen Teardrop
> 
> I will never not love Hilde Schbeiker. There is going to be a sequel. You were warned.
> 
> So the hospital that I used to work at was a level 1 trauma center, and it did, in fact, have something called an RTC and you got fast tracked there if you were an employee, a first responder, had something that needed attending urgently but wasn't a life-or-death emergency, or, frankly, if the staff liked you. And it generally went just about as I described. Cathy and Duo have some history, so she knows him, and she wants to get him out of her ER before he causes any trouble. I've envisioned her here as the Charge Nurse.
> 
> Hydrogen peroxide really will take blood out of cloth like magic. Just make sure you test it unobtrusively first, like on a corner of the item.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wufei's boss gets involved. And then there's dinner.

“Agent Chang.”

 

Director Une was a deceptively petite woman, her glasses slipping down her nose as she signed off a myriad of forms, but Wufei had been an FBI agent long enough to know better than to judge anyone by outward appearances. 

 

“Ma’am.”

 

Her eyes never left the paper she was reviewing.  “Director.”

 

“I’m sorry?’

 

“I prefer ‘Director’ to ‘ma’am’. Or you may call me Une, if you must.”

 

“Apologies, Director Une.”

 

Wufei had no idea what to expect.  He’d arrived at the appointed time, been ushered in by the Director’s secretary, Heero nowhere in sight.  The slim, brunette FBI agent-turned-field office director, who cultivated a well-deserved reputation for ferocity, had paid him no mind for a solid ten minutes before she’d said his name.

 

“Tell me about your experience with the NYPD gang task force this morning, Agent.”

 

Wufei’s brow furrowed.  “I wasn’t aware that I had one, Director.”

 

She capped the pen with a decisive click, setting it aside very precisely, and regarded him over her folded hands.  “That’s strange.  I was given to understand that you performed admirably under pressure, disabling an armed perpetrator whilst unarmed yourself, and assisted the police in their arrest of three known gang members.”

 

That was technically accurate, Wufei supposed.  “I was just in the right place at the right time ma-  Director.”

 

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, the hazel gaze shrewd.  “Were you injured?”

 

“No.”

 

She hummed thoughtfully.  “What sort of assignments were you involved with in Jordan?”

 

Director Une had all that information in Wufei’s file, he knew, which meant she was looking for something other than the details of his resume.  

 

“Intelligence acquisition and identification of potential terrorists.  Yuy and I mostly assisted the Jordanians with data recovery and dissemination to local police forces.”

 

Une’s lips edged up into what could almost be called a satisfied smirk.  The kind of look that made him nervous about her intentions.  She reached for a previously-unnoticed stack of files on the edge of her desk, bringing them to rest in front of her as she watched Wufei.

 

“Last month, two of my agents retired - Braziel and Halsey.  I’ve been trying out other agents in their previous positions, but I haven’t quite found the right pair yet.  Based on this morning’s excursion, however, I have a feeling you’ll fit right in.”

 

She slid the stack of manilla file folders across the desk to him.

 

“Welcome to the New York City Metro Gang Task Force, Special Agent Chang.”

 

Wufei left her office in a daze.  She thought he would fit in with the  _ gang _ unit?  He glanced at his reflection in the elevator doors.  Even slightly disheveled from the morning’s unusual activity, Wufei looked more like he was on his way to a business luncheon than anything, dressed in slacks, a collared shirt, and Oxfords.  He’d planned for a day spent in HR and meetings, not a live fire exercise.  Stepping off the elevator several floors down from where he started, Wufei navigated the maze of cubicles and hallways to the small office he’d been assigned.

 

When he walked in, Heero’s sour expression told him everything he needed to know about how the other man felt about their new assignment.

 

“Sorry,” Wufei muttered, going around to the empty desk that was obviously his and putting the files down.

 

Heero sighed.  “It’s not a bad assignment, it’s just out of my comfort zone.  The gang task force has good solve rates and an excellent working relationship with the local authorities.”  He paused.  “And I’d have done the same in your position.”  The last was a begrudging admission, Wufei could see, and he grinned.

 

“No, I think you’d have disabled the cop and tried to take down the gang members yourself, and probably gotten another bullet wound to add to your collection.”

 

Heero snorted, but didn’t disagree.  “We have to qualify on our weapons before we can be issued side arms, set up a meeting with the NYPD Detective that typically liases with our office, and I still don’t have an apartment lease signed.  What do you want to do first?”

 

A half hour later they were in the basement shooting range, sequestered in the two farthest lanes, competing to see who could get the highest range qualification score, as usual.

 

Wufei slid the safety on his Glock 17M, setting it aside as he reeled in his target.  He was surprisingly happy with the new pistol, which replaced the old .40 Glock he’d had in Jordan.  He’d shot better with it, he knew, the lack of finger grips making it easier to get a better handle on the stock, and he was hopeful he’d outdone Heero this time.  They typically broke about even over time, but Heero had just barely edged him out their last three qualifications.

 

Heero’s disgruntled look as he compared their scores was like salve on a wound.

 

Once they’d been signed off by the range supervisor, they took their forms down to the armory and presented them for review, each of them receiving a brand new pistol and holster in return.

 

Just strapping it on made Wufei feel more comfortable in his skin.

 

FBI agents were expected to carry their sidearms at all times, and after this morning, Wufei wasn’t likely to forget.  Ever.

 

Back at his desk, Wufei reached for the phone, intending to start making calls to the local police, to set up a meeting with their liaison, but Heero interrupted him.

 

“Don’t bother,” he grumbled, looking up from his computer screen, “our contact is on vacation until Monday.”

 

Wufei sighed.  So much for getting a jump start on, well, anything.

 

Heero stood, shrugging into his jacket.  “I’m going to look at a few apartments, do you want to join me?”  At Wufei’s uncertain look, he smirked.  “I’ve already told Une that we’re going to need to get familiar with the area to be effective.  And you’ve already had one run-in this morning, so we’re getting experience.  It’s only a couple of hours until the end of the day anyway.”

 

Snorting, Wufei stood to follow him, snagging his own jacket from the back of his chair.  

 

If Une had believed that line, Wufei would eat his shoe.  But if she’d cared, she’d have told Heero no, so he might as well.

 

*

 

Four days later, Wufei had decided that apartment hunting with Heero was a nightmare. 

 

Or maybe apartment hunting in Manhattan was a nightmare. 

 

Probably both. 

 

Unable to meet with their liaison, and with nothing open on their desks to work on, he and Heero had taken to looking at various options in the late afternoon every day.  After a dozen shoeboxes masquerading as living quarters, with Murphy beds and questionable appliances, Wufei was ready to go back to the Middle East. 

 

At least he’d been assigned housing there. 

 

He was looking forward to the weekend, where he had no showings scheduled and no expectation of going into work.  He just had one more day to get through.  Heero had already sent him a list of apartments he wanted to view tomorrow.

 

Wufei had barely collapsed on his comfortable, spacious hotel bed after another afternoon of trudging across what felt like the entire city when his phone chirped. 

 

**_Dinner?_ **

 

Wufei groaned, until he looked at the sender. 

 

‘Hot cop from the shoot out’ - it could only be Maxwell. 

 

**_I’m terrible company. I’ve just spent four hours looking at apartments with my partner._ **

 

**_I’m willing to risk it._ **

 

Half an hour later he was standing awkwardly outside Coogan's, some kind of casual Irish pub affair, waiting on the long-haired cop of his infamous coffee shop adventure to arrive.  Word had gotten around at the FBI field office already, and every day Wufei found mockup reports of petty thievery or actual newspaper clippings detailing actual break-ins on his desk.  

 

The friendly chatter and warm atmosphere that drifted out of the restaurant’s propped-open door washed over him in waves, and though he despised crowds, the sounds of it were familiar and soothing.  American.

 

Wufei hadn’t been home, in the States, for more than a handful of short visits since he’d been stationed in Jordan.  It was an unexpected relief to hear the twang of American accents, the mostly-English tumult of words.

 

Duo strolled up in the middle of Wufei’s musing, hands tucked into jean pockets, wearing a different leather jacket - black this time - and a crooked grin.  

 

“I should warn you,” he began, and Wufei rolled his eyes.  He had a feeling a lot of his interactions with the man were going to start off similarly.  “They know me here.”

 

“I think they know you  _ everywhere _ , Maxwell,” Wufei grumbled, but he followed the taller man into the restaurant willingly enough.

 

“Everywhere the food’s good,” he quipped, just as the older, balding man behind the bar shouted his name.

 

“Maxwell!  Cathy says you got shot again!”

 

Duo rolled his eyes good-naturedly.  “Cathy ever heard of patient confidentiality?”   
  


The old man chuckled before turning to a small chalkboard behind the bar and making a show of adding another hashmark in a column labeled ‘shot’.  Wufei noticed there was also one labeled ‘stabbed’ and another for ‘broken bones.’

 

The last one had the least number of marks, which Wufei found mildly worrisome.

 

They made their way to a corner table in the back of the surprisingly large room, Duo receiving a few more casual greetings along the way.  The restaurant was a strange mixture of Irish pub and sports bar, with jerseys from a hundred teams hanging from the ceiling and framed on the walls, in addition to newspaper clippings and photographs, with Irish beer on tap.  Calypso Sunrise was the happy hour drink of the day.  It was odd and friendly and entirely Maxwell.

 

“I grew up in this area,” Duo explained, as they sat down, “I’ve known Dave my whole life.  So he always gives me a hard time.  But the food’s good, and he gives me a first responder discount.”  He winked at Wufei as he passed over a menu.  “What about you?”

 

Wufei flipped the menu open to look at the options.  After years of a choice between cafeteria food and the local fare, he was actually looking forward to something as mundane as a burger.  They’d had burgers, of course, at the Embassy, but it wasn’t the same.  “What about me?”

 

“Where are you from, where are you going, anything about you really?  I already know you think fast under pressure and you’ve got serious moves, but that’s about it.”

 

Snorting, Wufei sat his menu aside.  “I grew up in California - my father was in the Marines, and he spent most of his career stationed out of Camp Pendleton.  I just spent the last three years in Jordan on Embassy duty, and I’m hopeful that our little escapade on Monday doesn’t derail my entire career.”  The last he added wryly, with a tilt to his lips that he hoped Duo interpreted as the joke it was. Wufei’s sense of humor tended to be subtle and dry, and people frequently took it the wrong way.

 

The other man snorted as a waitress appeared, wearing the green polo shirt that apparently functioned as a uniform here, snapping her gum.  “You want your usual?”

 

Duo grinned up at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Wufei was momentarily struck dumb by the sudden rush of attraction.

 

It had been a long three years overseas, where everyone was your coworker, or some kind of foreign official, or, god forbid, a politician, none of whom had ever appealed to Wufei on anything more than a superficial level, and who certainly hadn’t been worth the risk to his career for a short fling while they were in town.  

 

So while this wasn’t his first experience with arousal and attraction and his own sexual orientation - he’d had a life before Jordan after all - it felt new and different to allow it, to acknowledge its existence and to consider pursuing it, and Wufei was lucky Duo wasn’t looking at him, because he was sure the entirety of his thoughts was painted across his expression.  Which probably wouldn’t bode well for pursuing a relationship with the man.

 

He bent his burning face back to the menu, reminding himself of the dinner options available to him.

 

He was well aware of the dating options.

 

“Yeah, thanks Hannah.  And whatever he’s having.”

 

The waitress turned the force of her smile on him, warm brown eyes and wide lips.  “What’re you thinkin’?”

 

That was a loaded question.  Wufei cleared his throat. 

 

In the end, despite his original leanings towards a burger, he went with salmon and rice and vegetables, because he wanted something that at least required utensils to eat.

 

The whole thing was feeling more and more like a date, and while Wufei wasn’t sure that’s what the other man had intended, there was no mistaking the intimate atmosphere the outing was taking on, and the appreciative looks Duo shot him when he thought Wufei wasn’t looking.  

 

“So apartment hunting huh?”

 

Wufei was startled out of his distraction by Duo’s question.  He grimaced.  “Heero keeps dragging me out to look at dozens of places that he’s arbitrarily assigned some score based on a point-driven list of criteria that I don’t understand, and then he spends all of ten seconds looking at them before moving onto the next one.”

 

Duo laughed.  “You already have a place?”

 

Wufei frowned harder.  “No,” he grumbled.  “I’ve had _closets_ bigger than half the places Yuy’s taken me to.”

 

Laughing even harder at that, Duo leaned back to let the waitress drop off an amber-colored beer before darting off again. “Yeah, space is a premium here man, unless you wanna take the train in from outside the city.  I think my apartment is like 400 square feet or something. If you see something you think you can live with, you better snatch it up while you can.”

 

Their food appeared during Duo’s little speech, and Wufei sighed in resignation.  He knew Duo was right, and he wanted to live close to work, because there was every possibility he’d be called in at odd hours to work a critical case.  He also couldn’t afford to live in his hotel room indefinitely.  He’d banked a fair bit of hazard pay while he was overseas, but it was supposed to be an emergency fund, not a supplement to his lifestyle.

 

Raising his fork to his lips, Wufei was pleasantly surprised by the food.  The fish was perfectly cooked, and the rice and vegetables were well-seasoned, instead of bland and unappealing.  Duo laughed at him again, and Wufei got the feeling it was going to be a running theme for their time together.

 

“Good huh?” The braided man grinned at him from behind his own spoonful of what looked like pot pie.  “Place doesn’t look like much, but they know what they’re doin’ in the kitchen.”

 

“And there’s a discount,” Wufei said, dryly, taking another bite.

 

“There is that,” Duo agreed.  “By the time you’re done paying for your closet-sized apartment, you’ll be grateful you know where the discounts are.”

 

Wufei suspected he was right.

 

“How long have you been a cop?” 

 

Duo shrugged.  “About eight years, I guess?  I was a troublemaker as a kid, til this priest got ahold of me, and I’ve been tryin’ to do somethin’ better with myself since he died.”

 

Wufei blinked in surprise. He didn’t really know what to say to that.  It wasn’t what he had expected to hear the other man say at all.

 

Duo took in the expression on his face and grimaced.  

 

“Aw, don’t look like that, it was a long time ago.  My brother died - gang shit, y’know? - and I was headed the same way til the good Father got his hands on me, him and this nun, so I just try and… do the right thing.” He cleared his throat.  “How long you been a fed?”

 

Wufei rolled his eyes.  “Five years in November.”

 

Duo snorted in amusement.  “C’mon I practically spilled my guts and you said what? Four words?  You can do better than that.”

 

Feeling the heat creep into his face, Wufei was forced to acknowledge the other man’s point.  He cleared his throat.  “I got my undergraduate in Criminology, but when I applied to the Bureau, I learned they were oversaturated in that field, so I went back and got a Master’s in Digital Forensics.  So I was a bit older than most of my peers.”

 

Nodding knowingly, Duo pushed his empty bowl to the side.  “So you worked a little harder to get promoted, I got ya.  I tried to get a criminal justice degree. NYPD requires an Associate's’, you know? To get in the police academy?”  

 

Wufei nodded - they were one of the few police departments that had a college course requirement for entrance.

 

“But I hated it, it wasn’t a good fit at all.  So I switched it up, got my degree in Spanish,” he winked at Wufei over the table. “I already spoke Spanish and it’s an asset on the force, and a minor in Sociology, ‘cause people are interestin’.  After I got the first sixty hours I applied to the academy, then I did the rest with online and evening classes.  Took a little longer, but I finished.”  

 

There was an awkward pause, and Duo fiddled with the salt shaker and various sauce bottles on the table, arranging them in various, unvoiced combinations, some sort of nervous habit.  “Why’d you wanna join the FBI?” he asked, finally, as though he’d been chewing on the words.

 

As though he knew the reason was personal and intrusive and he wasn’t sure it was ok to ask.

 

Taking a deep breath, Wufei reminded himself that Duo had shared, at least a small part of his obviously painful past, and Wufei could, should reciprocate.

 

“When I was eleven, my cousin went missing.”  

 

Duo’s eyes were wide in sudden understanding, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Wufei held up his hand, the other man closing his jaw with a snap.

 

“They never found her,” Wufei answered the unspoken question, “but the FBI agent who was assigned to the case never stopped looking.  We saw him at family events, holidays, almost as a part of the family.  He’s been… something of a mentor to me.  He retired a few years ago, just after I went to Quantico.”

 

He paused, taking in Duo’s expression.  Where he’d expected to see pity - an all too common occurrence - the other man’s expression was merely sympathetic and slightly pained.  Wufei was sure, having been a cop already for several years, that he was intimately familiar with how that kind of tragedy shaped a family, shaped a child who grew up in it. Meilan’s disappearance had forever altered the way his parents raised him, the way his extended family watched over children.  Wufei had grown up sheltered as a result, constantly under the watchful eye of a relative, and as an adult he was meticulous, controlled, and careful. 

 

When he’d started at the FBI he had thought to work with missing children, but it had taken only one case for him to realize he was too invested and totally ill-suited to the field.  Wufei preferred by-the-book, procedural arrests - he couldn’t stand to see a criminal get away because of the error of an agent - but he was also frustrated and hampered by bureaucratic red tape, and in the context of a missing child it was maddening.

 

He’d asked for a transfer to cybercrimes and counter-intelligence and when it had been granted, he’d found a niche and a partner in Heero Yuy.

 

Duo, on the other hand, seemed to flaunt procedural nonsense, but he also appeared to be well-liked and well-respected by his peers, despite their strange sense of humor.  And he had his own personal tragedy and his law enforcement background meant that he could at least understand and respect Wufei’s dedication to the job.

 

Wufei had experienced more than enough relationships where the other party couldn’t.

 

Though perhaps he was jumping the gun and Duo was just being friendly.

 

The waitress reappeared, taking empty dishes and refilling their water glasses.  “Coffee? Dessert?” she asked, brightly.  

 

Duo crinkled up at her again, and Wufei wondered if the man even knew the power of his own charisma.

 

“I want the shamrock,” he answered, before turning to look at Wufei, “do you want one?”

 

Wufei practically lived on caffeine and he didn’t think one coffee after dinner was going to put him off his sleep schedule too badly.  He shrugged in response.  “Sure.”

 

“Two shamrocks, then, please ma’am, and the check.”

 

She dimpled at him, tucking away her notebook and bustling off with the tray of dishes.

 

“I can get my own meal,” Wufei protested, immediately.

 

“Nah, I asked you out.  You can get it next time.”  The last was said with just the hint of a question, and Wufei decided that as good as answered his own private wonderings.

 

“Alright,” he conceded, “next time, dinner is on me.”

 

Duo’s smile widened, revealing a dimple in his left cheek.

 

Hannah returned with something that smelled like coffee but looked like dessert, complete with whipped cream on top.

 

“What have I ordered?” Wufei asked skeptically, lifting the cup from the saucer to smell it.

 

The other man laughed.  “It’s a Dominican shamrock?”  At Wufei’s blank look, he smirked even wider. “It’s coffee with rum and irish cream, topped with whipped cream.”

 

“I guess this means we’re skipping after dinner drinks,” Wufei muttered, sipping the drink.

 

It turned out to be really excellent, though Wufei could definitely detect the liquor, and he didn’t think it was something he’d order often.

 

When it was gone he was feeling surprisingly lax, though whether that was from the spiked coffee or the company he couldn’t say.  As they left the restaurant, they paused awkwardly on the sidewalk, and Wufei wondered if this was where they said goodbye or-

 

“Walk with you to your hotel?” Duo asked, looking slightly hopeful.

 

Wufei nodded his acquiescence and Duo fell into step beside him, arms swinging, his hand brushing against Wufei’s occasionally, not much space between them.  They walked mostly in silence, though Duo occasionally pointed out an interesting landmark or a good restaurant, until they rounded the corner and Wufei’s hotel came into view.  

 

Duo tugged him off to the side, near the bench and planter box outside the main entrance, where they were at least out of the way of passerby.  Wufei opened his mouth to ask what they were doing, but Duo made it abundantly clear when he stepped into Wufei’s personal space, arm going around his waist to tug him close.

 

“So,” the braided man said, “I had a nice time.”

 

Wufei snorted.  “Are you going to kiss me or not, Maxwell?”

 

The other man chuckled, leaning down to press their lips together, and Wufei could feel the edges of his smile against his mouth, before Duo angled his head for a better approach, and Wufei forgot to think about whether or not Duo was smiling.  He was focused entirely on the pressure of their mouths, the slide of lips, and the warm breath ghosting across his cheek.  

 

The kiss was incredibly tame, but still left Wufei wanting, even as Duo eased away, giving Wufei’s bottom lip a small nip as he went.

 

When he stepped back, Wufei’s body felt colder than it had before, the cool evening air drifting between them, and he shivered.

 

Duo’s gaze turned even hotter.  “See you around, Chang.”  He licked his lips.  “Hope to see more of you, next time, maybe.”

 

Wufei laughed outright.  “Not on the second date, Maxwell.”  But he smiled at the other man as he turned to go.

 

Duo’s laughter followed him on the breeze into the lobby of the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always and forever keeping Lovisa for Une. I know her 'real' name is Cordelia, but frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
> 
> Gentle reminder that I have no clue how the FBI actually works and I only vaguely googled it.
> 
> The Glock 17M is very cool though, and the FBI did recently replace their old standard-issue sidearm with it.
> 
> Coogan's is a real place and TripAdvisor says it's wonderful.
> 
> The Angst Monster got me, as you can clearly see, with these horribly sad backstories, but I promise I PROMISE this story itself is not angsty.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working relationships might be a bit... strained.

The police station was a madhouse.

Wufei and Heero were both thrown off by the seeming chaos, the room full to bursting with officers and desks, detainees being led to and fro for reasons that weren’t immediately apparent in the hubbub.

Finally, Heero lost patience with the whole thing and asked the nearest officer where to find the gang task force. The young man had sputtered at him momentarily, until Heero had flashed his ID, and then he’d firmed his jaw for a moment before answering.

“You want Sergeant Barton, I guess.” He’d sounded nervous but directed them through the station, down a hallway, to an office on the left.

Wufei recognized the name immediately, and that was the first hint he had that this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as they'd planned.

Barton was sitting behind a battered desk in a cramped office reviewing files when they knocked on the door. He glanced up, taking in their presence, and smirking knowingly at Heero, before motioning them in. His uniform was still crisply pressed and his hat was within easy reach, despite the overall clutter of the room.

“Well gentlemen,” he drawled, “what brings you to my dingy and somewhat disorganized domain?”

“Director Une assigned us to liaise with the gang unit detective,” Heero answered, shocking Wufei into silence, his mouth still half open from where he’d started to speak.

Heero never chatted with anyone. While neither of them were exactly social butterflies, it had long ago been established that Heero had the edge over him in computer skills, whereas Wufei was marginally more competent with people and socialization.

Wufei couldn’t even think of another occasion where Heero had casually and voluntarily spoken to anyone in any kind of work setting, and certainly not with a smirk on his face and a tone in his voice that Wufei had never heard before.

It was unnerving.

Barton glanced at Wufei, still looking vaguely amused, and hummed thoughtfully before leaning over to pick up his phone and dial out.

“Come to my office,” he said, as whoever picked up on the other line answered, and he hung up without waiting for a response. His eyes sparkled with a mischief that Wufei didn’t quite know how to take.

“The gang unit is my task force, but I leave most of the day-to-day details to the officers involved. The senior Detective is something of an expert, so most of what I handle is paperwork or electronic.”

Heero nodded decisively, and Wufei carefully didn’t sigh. It meant that Wufei would be handling the liaison, and Heero would be dealing mostly with Sgt. Barton. Because while Wufei just wasn’t a people person, Heero was actively antisocial, and notoriously bad with inter-agency cooperation. The Jordanians had flat out refused to deal with him on several occasions.

At least the Sergeant seemed to like him.

The door to the office flew open, and a very distinctive voice came in with it.

“Jesus Christ, Tro, I haven't even been back from vacation for 8 hours, there’s no way I’m in trouble already I haven’t even left the building-”

The flow of words was abruptly cut off as Duo Maxwell barged into the office and realized that Barton not only had visitors, but that they were visitors he knew, at least in passing.

“Agent Yuy, Agent Chang, I believe you’ve already met Detective Maxwell.”

Wufei had the feeling that if Barton were any other man, he’d be laughing hard enough to rupture something, but he appeared only mildly mirthful, with a sardonic twist of his lips and humor shining in his eyes.

Duo looked completely different than he had a few nights ago. Gone was the leather jacket, the well-worn, distressed jeans, the earring, and in their place was a collared shirt, cuffed neatly to the elbow, and a pair of well-fitted grey slacks.

If he’d ever been wearing a tie, it was long since gone, but that didn’t stop Wufei from staring.

After a moment, Sergeant Barton cleared his throat. “Duo, why don’t you show Agent Chang around the unit, maybe get his input on the open cases you were handling with the previous FBI agents? Agent Yuy and I will cover the digital forensics.”

Wufei rose silently to follow Duo out of the office and through the noisy hallways of the police station to a surprisingly neat and organized desk in the middle of a still-bustling but less crowded room. There were several other desks, some of which were occupied, everyone going about their usual business. The other officers barely even glanced up at Duo and Wufei’s arrival. Duo sat down with an explosive sigh, gesturing Wufei towards a rolling chair nearby, which Wufei pulled up to the side of the desk, eyeing the braided man warily.

“Well, this is awkward,” Duo said, finally.

That… was a word for it. He’d forgotten, totally, that in the height of the excitement at the coffee shop, Duo had mentioned he was on the gang unit. They’d been texting back and forth for days, since Thursday night’s dinner, and had been working toward tentative plans for the weekend, because Duo hadn’t been sure what his schedule would be like during the week.

Because he was coming back from vacation. Another clue Wufei had missed. Some investigator he was.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Wufei sighed in response. “Let’s just- let’s just get to work.”

Nodding mutely, Duo dragged a stack of folders towards them, opening the top one and beginning to give Wufei a run-down of the current in-process cases that the FBI had been called to assist with.

“Alright, Braziel mostly helped me out with the field work, Halsey did the computer stuff with Tro. The last set of agents Une sent over here didn’t know their ass from a hole in the ground, but I think you’ll do alright…”

Two hours later, some of their tension had dissipated under the grind of work, both of them immersing themselves in what would be their job for the foreseeable future. It was clear early on just why Duo was the lead detective on the task force - his childhood experience had played a role, true, but beyond his knowledge of facts, he had an innate understanding of how the gangs worked, of the mentality behind the people in them.

“Nah, 18th Street wouldn’t bother with that, it’s too low-level for them.”

“Yes I know they all have blood in their name, it’s supposed to be intimidating.”

“No, no that was the other- no there’s Insane Gangster Crips and Outlaw Gangster Crips and Wild Card Gangst- you know, there’s just a lot of Gangster Crips. You figure it out eventually.”

Duo didn’t do undercover work, though he had done in the past, but he had something of a reputation amongst various groups, and he was often one of the only people any of them would talk to in the police department - whether as an informant or after an arrest. They didn’t trust him, exactly, but they trusted that he was honest, that he had been one of them, before.

More than once Duo had redirected Wufei’s line of thought or offered up some tidbit of knowledge that had opened up another avenue of questioning, just in the short time they sat at his desk reviewing cases. Wufei sat aside anything he thought FBI resources could assist with, adding to an ever-growing pile.

Two hours later Heero appeared at the desk, looking smug and cocksure, Sergeant Barton nowhere in sight, eyebrow raised at the two of them huddled shoulder-to-shoulder over the reports on Duo’s desk. There was hardly any space between them, and Duo had just leaned across Wufei to reach for a different file to reference.

Wufei stood abruptly, stacking the copies of the files he’d made to take with him for further review, the tension between him and Duo rushing back with force, an unwelcome intrusion after all the progress they’d made.

“I’ll, ah-” Duo began, just as Wufei spoke.

“We can-”

Heero snorted at them in amusement. “We’ll touch base with you in a few days, once we’ve had time to sort through all of that.” He gestured loosely at the paperwork in Wufei’s arms.

Duo closed his jaw with a snap, eyes tight around the edges, and nodded, once.

There was an awkward silence as they just stared at each other across the desk.

Finally, Wufei nodded in return before whirling around to follow Heero out of the room, the station, and out onto the street. They hailed a cab and were back at the FBI office in less than half an hour.

Sitting at their respective desks, Heero shook out some kind of awful-looking green power smoothie while Wufei stared blankly at the report on his computer screen, mind a million miles away. He drank half the shaker down before he spoke.

“What’s the problem, Chang?”

“What?” Wufei looked up, startled, to find the other man studying him. “Nothing, why?”

“Well, you were in a disgustingly good mood on Friday, and then I didn’t hear from you all weekend despite my offer to help you get moved into your new apartment, and now you’re staring morosely at the screensaver on your computer. What’s wrong?”

Wufei had taken Duo’s advice to heart and gone back Friday afternoon to pay the deposit and sign a lease on one of the first apartments he’d toured with Heero - furnished and larger than average, though it was more expensive than he’d wanted and painted a hideous color - but he’d declined the other man’s help ‘moving.’ He only had a few bags from his time in Jordan anyway, and an assortment of boxes he’d been keeping in storage. Wufei had hired a truck on Sunday to move them to the new place and was now in the process of unpacking things he hadn’t seen in years.

Shrugging in response to Heero’s prodding, he turned back to the computer screen, jiggling the mouse to bring up the report he’d been pretending to work on. “I’m fine.”

He could feel Heero’s continued gaze on him, like the blast of heat from an open oven door.

“You like the cop,” Heero announced, finally, as though he’d solved the problem of world peace.

Wufei rolled his eyes. “It hardly matters now,” he answered, unable to disguise the thread of bitterness in his voice.

“What does that mean?” Heero sounded surprised.

“It means,” Wufei ground out, “that we work together.” Heero was well aware of his personal policy against inter-office dating, even if the other man didn’t exactly subscribe to the same standards.

Heero ‘my body is a temple’ Yuy had never lacked in company, even in the isolated embassies of the world. He was meticulous about his food intake, his workout regimen, and his bed partners, but he wasn’t overly concerned about their proximity to his job.

“Not really,” the other man finally said, his tone conveying exactly how stupid he thought Wufei was being. “You’re not in each others’ chain of command, you don’t even work for the same agency. At most you might be peers, or fellow officers on an op. But you don’t work together. I don’t see a conflict.”

With that pronouncement, he turned to his own computer, plugging a data drive into the side port for review, the subject obviously dropped.

At least for Yuy.

His words plagued Wufei the rest of the afternoon and his entire commute home - in fact, he went back to his old hotel first before, cursing, he turned around and headed for home in the opposite direction.

Wufei was barely in the door, dropping his briefcase on the miniscule dining table and hanging his keys, when his phone dinged.

Can we talk?

Looking around his disheveled apartment, he gave in with a sigh.

I think we’d better.

Duo showed up less than an hour later in another pair of ripped jeans and a police academy hoodie, with Thai food and an uncomfortable look on his face. Wufei let him in, watching as he navigated around the haphazardly strewn boxes to the sofa, and deposited his offering on the coffee table.

“Nice place,” the braided man offered, grinning tentatively.

“Thanks, it has a fridge with an entire freezer.” Wufei returned, dryly. “And an actual bedroom, which was the biggest selling point.”

The grin widened into a smirk, but as Wufei watched, Duo swallowed back whatever remark he’d been about to make. Something inappropriate about the bedroom, no doubt, and Wufei grimaced.

Gone was the ease of their date Thursday night, the awkwardness of the morning having replaced it.

Clearing his throat, Duo began pulling takeout containers from the paper sack, the smell of spices and soy sauce making Wufei’s stomach growl. Thai food was something else he hadn’t gotten much of in Jordan. Wufei disappeared into the closet-sized kitchen long enough to produce real chopsticks, which, miracle of miracles, he’d found when he unpacked his modest kitchen supplies Sunday evening. Anything was better than the flimsy wooden ones that take out places supplied.

Duo accepted his with a smile and they bent to their dinners, eating in companionable silence. The food was excellent, spicy and well seasoned, and they traded dishes back and forth until Wufei leaned back with a sigh, setting his chopsticks aside.

“So,” Duo said, finally, putting his own container down, “about this.” He motioned between the two of them.

Wufei sighed again, for entirely different reasons. “I don’t normally,” he began, after a moment, “date people with whom I work.” He paused. “But as Heero pointed out to me today - and I’d like to add that, historically, his judgement in these matters is questionable - we don’t really work together. At least, not regularly.”

Nodding, Duo leaned forward, offering his own opinion. “I had a good time Thursday. Hell, I had a good time getting shot at-”

“Shot, not shot at. I think you still have stitches.” Wufei reminded him with a smirk.

“Shot, then,” Duo responded with an eyeroll, “and Cathy took the stitches out today. But, I had a good time playin’ cops and robbers with you before Thursday night. And after you left today I asked Tro, because he is, technically, my superior officer, and he said since your buddy Yuy spent the whole weekend at his place, he didn’t think it’d be an issue.”

Wufei gaped at him, train of thought completely lost in the wake of that little announcement, and Duo’s grin widened.

“He didn’t mention that huh? Tro called it ‘improving inter-agency cooperation’.” Duo snickered.

When Wufei didn’t respond, still shocked into silence, Duo’s face turned earnest and serious as he scooted closer on the sofa, eyes searching Wufei’s face.

“I like you, Chang, I think you’re smart and interestin’, and a damn good agent, and I want a chance to find out how good we could be together.” He smirked again, a little of the seriousness leaving his face to be replaced by something resembling a leer. “And how much better at cooperatin’ we can be than Tro and Heero.”

It startled a laugh out of Wufei. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be accused of being less cooperative than Yuy. That would be a Bureau first.” He slid his hand across the cushions, tangling his fingers with Duo’s. “I like you, too,” he added, and Wufei had never been shy, but he felt tentative, now, on the precipice of something that could be wonderful, but painfully aware of how it could go horribly, horribly wrong. “Even if you seem to have more of a penchant for getting injured in the line of duty than my partner.”

If things didn’t work out, he’d be left to wade through the aftermath, forced to continue working with Duo until one or both of them transferred or left, and in this case that meant Wufei, since he didn’t see Duo going anywhere. Une would be displeased-

Duo’s mouth covering his own distracted him from the downward spiral of his thoughts, pulling him into the present and an acute awareness of Duo’s lips moving against his, the slight scrape of stubble against his cheek. He leaned into the kiss, his free hand coming up to tug Duo closer as he shifted to make more room for him, his knee on the couch and his left foot on the ground. The braided man moved easily, leaning forward until they were pressed together, tongues tangling, Duo’s hand at the small of his back.

Wufei was drowning in sensation when Duo eased back, both of them panting, to grin at him.

“How’s that for cooperatin’?”

“We can do better,” Wufei growled, yanking him forward again.

It wouldn’t do to let Yuy beat him, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been inside NYPD, I have no idea if Trowa would have an office, and I only have vague ideas that probably originate from Law & Order.
> 
> I did look up enough rank structure to determine that Trowa could, in fact, technical be Duo's superior officer.
> 
> I've no idea how they would work with the FBI though and I'm making it up Nyah Nyah Nyah 
> 
> ALL THE GANG NAMES ARE REAL THOUGH NO LIE HAND TO GOD
> 
> I've got no idea what sort of fraternization policy might be enforced under these circumstances, and frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue-ish, and some smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, happiest of happy birthdays to ChronicWhimsy, who is a wonderful human being and an even better friend. I couldn’t call myself a writer without her. 
> 
> This is the final chapter of this fic, and though there’s a sequel in this ‘verse in the works, it is not focused on these two. But stay tuned for at least a cameo. 
> 
> Smut ahoy!

Officer Hilde Schbeiker surveyed the scene with a faint sense of personal pride. Her father had been a cop, and her father’s father had been a cop, and her mother had been resigned to her career path when, at five, she’d held her eight year old cousin down and restrained him with rope for the crime of throwing her other cousin’s stuffed cat in a tree.

She’d then reported him to her Uncle Howard for theft and property damage.

Hilde hadn’t ever wanted to be anything but a cop, and she was a damn good one. So when an assignment came together perfectly, even with inter-agency cooperation, she took as much satisfaction in it as if it were a personal achievement.

She was positioned near the back, behind her patrol car, gun in hand, waiting, as the lead detectives and the FBI prepared to swarm the warehouse where an informant tip had alerted them to a weapons deal in the making. Looking out over the sea of blue uniforms and black tactical vests and bright white NYPD lettering she was-

“Hey, Maxwell’s here. Betcha twenty bucks he gets shot.”

-she was very interested in making a few bucks in the unofficial betting pools. With narrowed eyes, she looked for the long chestnut braid that identified the detective in question. She found him crouched and ready near the building entrance, hair tucked underneath the tactical vest, gun in hand. Just behind him, in a similar vest with FBI blazoned across the back, was a familiar-looking Chinese man, his own hair pulled back into a short tail at the nape of his neck.

Carefully schooling the shark-like grin that crossed her face, she turned to see who had spoken.

Officer Richards.

A recent transfer from the 121st precinct, he had been in the NYPD long enough to hear rumors about the gang unit, but not in the unit long enough to have picked up on the nuances.

Over his shoulder, Key winked at her.

“Naw, Richards, he’ll probably get shot and stabbed.” Key egged the other man on, setting Hilde up perfectly.

The new officer grinned. “Alright, twenty says he only gets shot, but thirty if he gets shot and stabbed.”

Hilde snorted. “I got fifty bucks that says he leaves without a scratch on him.”

Half a dozen other officers threw in their predictions, and Hilde holstered her weapon long enough to jot them down in the notebook she kept in her pocket before turning her attention back to the lead officer on scene, waiting to see how it all played out.

Chang better be in fine form today, because otherwise she was going to be out a lot of money.

*

Shouts of “NYPD” and “FBI” came from everywhere as the joint task force burst through the warehouse doors, Duo hot on the heels of the tactical squad leading the way. He could feel Wufei shadowing him, the thought giving him a small thrill.

Over a year into their relationship and they’d both reassured themselves and proven that they were perfectly capable of performing together despite - or perhaps because of - their relationship, and neither of their supervisors had had to make an issue of it. In fact, both Captain Po and Director Une seemed to have adopted a strict ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy regarding both them and Barton and Yuy.

Though there was a persistent rumor about Trowa and Heero and an unfortunate encounter in a supply closet that Wufei had accused him of starting.

He was yanked, literally, from his thoughts by Wufei dragging him by his vest behind a teetering pile of pallets as a burst of fire ripped through the air a foot from where he’d been standing.

“Stop daydreaming and pay attention!” the other man hissed, before he ducked around the obstacle to approach the holdout gang members from another side.

“They missed me by a mile,” Duo complained, following him, “and now I’m distracted by your ass in those pants.”

Wufei threw a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder, half annoyed and half… something else. Something dark and hot and full of promises of later.

Duo grinned at him in response.

An hour later they were both manhandling cuffed prisoners into the back of a transport truck, Wufei’s hair disheveled around his face and his mouth pursed in irritation.

“I’m fine,” Duo insisted, even as Wufei dragged him to the car he and Heero had brought to the scene, popping the trunk. He pulled the first aid kit he’d taken to carrying around with him out, motioning at Duo in silence.

Huffing in irritation, Duo shucked his vest and untucked his shirt. “It’s barely a scratch, it’s not even bleedin- yeow! That burns, ‘Fei!”

Wufei was scrubbing at the wound on his side with an alcohol cleansing wipe, muttering under his breath in what Duo thought was Mandarin. It didn’t sound French, anyway, and it definitely wasn’t Pashto.

“Dammit, Maxwell.”

He looked up from glaring at his boyfriend to grimace at Hilde, who had a sour look on her face. “What? You’re usually thrilled when I get injured.”

“Not when it costs me fifty bucks,” she grumbled, watching as Wufei slapped a long adhesive bandage over the cut. “I blame you, Chang.”

Wufei looked over at her, brows raised in irritation and surprise. “Me? I didn’t try to gut him.”

Some teenage boy, probably not even old enough to drive, had gotten lucky with a box cutter and Duo’s own desire to help every kid he ever laid eyes on, managing to score a hit just below the vest and above Duo’s trousers, scoring along his side deep enough to draw blood, before Wufei had relieved him of his weapon. And possibly broken his wrist.

“You shoulda kept a better eye on him,” Hilde groused, both of them grumbling at each other like Duo didn’t even exist.

He rolled his eyes. “Wufei’s not my keeper, ya know.”

She continued to ignore him. “Anyone else know he got hurt?” Her look took on a calculating edge. “I’ll split the kitty with you if you keep it between us.”

Duo snorted and yanked his shirt back down. “Fifty-fifty?” he checked, to be sure.

She shrugged. “Yeah, alright.”

Wufei sighed in resignation, glancing around. No one else was in the immediate vicinity. “Fine,” he groused, “but next time I’m going to injure him myself if he pulls any more stupid stunts.” His dark eyes blazed at Duo over the still-open trunk.

Hilde huffed a laugh. “I’ll account for that in betting pool.”

She wandered off, humming to herself, hands tucked into her trouser pockets.

Duo reached over and snagged Wufei’s jacket from the trunk, thrusting his arms into the sleeves and rucking them up around his elbows, so hopefully the tear in his shirt and the drying blood wouldn’t be as noticeable. The Chinese man rolled his eyes and closed the trunk with a decisive clang.

They wandered back towards the hubbub of the scene, waiting on Heero to disentangle himself from the complicated electronic-

The man in question stumbled out of the surveillance van, followed several seconds later and at a much more sedate pace by a smug but perfectly coiffed Trowa. Duo snickered and Wufei rolled his eyes.

Subtle, they were not.

“I don’t even hafta start rumors,” he whispered to the other man, “they do that all on their own.”

Wufei couldn’t quite contain the amused sound he made.

Duo winked at him as he climbed into the front of Hilde’s patrol car, Wufei and Heero breaking off for their sedan.

“See you later?” he asked, pausing with one foot in the footwell, his arms crossed over the doorframe, as though he didn’t already know the answer to the question.

“Get in Romeo,” Hilde ordered from the driver’s seat, “we have paperwork to do. You can make kissy faces later.”

He did, Wufei smirking at him as he walked away.

*

Duo was nearly finished braiding his almost-dry hair when the doorbell rang. He tied the end off as he walked to the door, opening it to reveal his still-perturbed looking boyfriend, who was also recently showered, his damp hair pulled back.

He stepped aside, letting Wufei in the door before kicking it shut with his foot and locking it.

“Look,” he began, turning towards Wufei, who was standing and staring at him, the expression on his face indecipherable, “I’m sorry, I-”

His words were cut off by Wufei’s mouth slanting over his, hot and demanding, as he was backed up and pinned against the front door. He moaned into the kiss, arching up into Wufei’s grip, his arms coming up to wrap around the other man’s neck. Wufei pressed harder, lining their bodies up and tugging him close, the grip on his hips almost bruising.

Wufei slid his hands beneath the worn-thin t-shirt Duo was wearing, his mouth trailing along his jaw and throat, and Duo rocked against him in response. The other man froze, briefly, when his hand encountered the fresh bandage on Duo’s side, thumb scraping along the edge, and then Wufei lowered his head to rest on Duo’s shoulder.

“Can you at least try not to get yourself killed?” Wufei murmured against his skin, the words were delivered lightly, as though Wufei intended them as a joke, but Duo could hear the genuine emotion underlying them.

“You never let me have any fun anymore,” Duo grumbled, but his tone matched Wufei’s - deceivingly cavalier, masking the true desperation he felt.

Duo didn’t intend to get hurt, he never intended to get hurt, and he definitely didn’t have a death wish, rumors to the contrary aside. He just cared too much what happened to kids, the kids who reminded him of himself. Or who were like Solo, the brother who hadn’t had a chance to grow up.

He wasn’t used to people caring what happened to him, even now. He’d grown up with a father in prison and a mother who disappeared on drug-and-alcohol fueled binges, his older brother his only source of guidance. When Solo had died at thirteen - caught in the crossfire of a gang dispute - everything had spiraled completely out of control. The authorities had gotten involved, discovered his absentee mother - a woman who had never wanted children and certainly not two rambunctious boys - and eight year old Duo had gone to live with an elderly priest and a young nun in a small orphanage. It had been his first experience with adults who genuinely cared about him, and he’d been fiercely protective of both of them. Father Maxwell had died only a few years ago, but Sister Helen was still around, living quietly in a convent upstate. They didn’t allow visitors, but Duo wrote to her frequently.

But he’d never quite shaken the feeling that he was expendable, or at least less valuable than others, like Richey who had a family, or Hilde who was beloved by a large Italian clan of current and former police officers. Duo’s almost reckless disregard for his life was practically legendary, but he did it so that others wouldn’t. He’d figured he had the least to lose. Just an elderly nun to mourn his passing.

When he’d met Wufei, Duo’d been expecting a casual fling with a hot Fed, and instead he’d found…

Something altogether different.

The kind of altogether different that had sent him scrambling for his mental footholds about six months into their relationship when Wufei had suggested Duo meet his family. The kind of backpedaling panic that had had Trowa threatening to knock sense into him. It had resulted in Noin, Cathy’s very pregnant wife, who was a pediatric nurse on an oncology unit - meaning she was simultaneously warmly empathetic and entirely no-nonsense - sitting Duo down and having a come-to-Jesus conversation about just what he thought he was doing with Wufei, his life, and his career.

He’d met Wufei’s family. It had gone surprisingly well. Or surprising to Duo, anyway. Wufei had seemed perfectly at ease the entire weekend, and his mother, tiny and fierce, had kissed Duo goodbye and told him she’d see him at Christmas.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, and Wufei sagged against him, his forehead still pressed into Duo’s shoulder. Duo ran soothing fingertips up and down his spine and across the back of his neck, coaxing the tension he found there out of the muscles.

“Just… try to be more careful. My mother will be deeply disappointed if you miss Christmas.”

Duo nodded, still stroking his back. “I will. I promise.”

It was a hard promise to make. Duo’s habits were long engrained.

But Wufei was important to him, and, amazingly enough, he was important to Wufei. Reasonable risks were ok. They both had law enforcement careers, after all. Unreasonable ones were not.

There was another long moment of silence, of both of them breathing, settling against each other, soothing and familiar. Quietly reassuring each other that they were there and whole and unharmed.

Well, mostly unharmed, in Duo’s case.

“Have you eaten already?” Wufei asked, the words barely audible despite the lack of sound in the room.

“Ah- yeah?” Duo blinked in surprise.

“Good.”

It was the only warning he got and then Wufei was lifting him, Duo automatically wrapping his legs around his waist for balance, and striding across the small studio apartment to dump him on the bed and climb up after him.

Whatever protest he’d been about to lodge about being carried across the fuckin’ room like some kinda girl was lost when Wufei climbed over him, dark eyes pinning him with a heated look. The kiss this time was less forceful but more intense, like Wufei was trying to memorize the taste and feel of his mouth, breath puffing against his cheek, fingers trailing lightly along his sides.

He broke away slowly, easing off the kiss a little at a time, until he was pressing gentle, closed-mouth kisses to Duo’s lips and cheeks, and face, and then along his neck and collar, tugging his shirt down and out of the way. Wufei leaned back far enough to pull his shirt off and strip Duo of his, and then he was back, warm lips and calloused hands trailing across exposed flesh. Duo wrapped his legs around him, pulling him down into his body, using his heels to push at Wufei’s pants. Wufei chuckled against his lips, but reached down to help, shoving his pants over his hips, before returning to his previous task.

Duo leaned into his touch, his eyes slipping nearly closed in the dim light of the room - he hadn’t bothered to turn on a light except for the one in the hall to the bathroom - and the cool darkness and near-silence, coupled with Wufei’s careful attention, gave the experience an unusual feeling of reverence.

He sucked in his breath as Wufei’s tongue lathed across his nipple in a hot, wet stripe, and his nails scratched down Wufei’s back, causing the other man to arch and groan. More heated kisses across his body, tracing lines of ink and old scars, then those same calloused hands were tugging at his sweats, Duo lifting his hips accommodatingly. He felt the vibration of Wufei’s chuckle when his erection sprang free, thanks to his distinct lack of underwear.

“Did you have something planned for the evening?” Wufei asked, his breath hot and damp across Duo’s cock.

“This seems about right,” Duo answered, hips twitching.

Wufei snorted, pressing his mouth along the edge of his hip, tantalizingly close to where Duo wanted it to go, nipping along the sensitive juncture where leg and hip met. Duo tugged at his shoulders, only to have Wufei continue to ignore him, pressing reverential kisses along his thigh, and the back of his knee, and his calf.

When Wufei reached his ankle Duo groaned. “If you start sucking on my toes I swear to God I’ll kick you.”

He could feel Wufei laughing as he switched his attention to the left ankle and started working his way back up. He made an all-too-brief diversion at Duo’s cock, pausing to run lips and teeth over it and swirl his tongue around the head, causing Duo to clench his jaw and arch his back, and then he was gone again, continuing on his course until they were face to face.

Wufei looked impossibly tender, his eyes searching Duo’s face, before he leaned down for another of the long, explorative kisses, pressing their bodies together, the drag of bare skin sizzling like electricity over his nerves.

They shifted and turned, until they were positioned more or less in the middle of the bed, Wufei fumbling in the nightstand while Duo pressed sharp, open-mouthed kisses to his neck and rubbed their hips together, distracting Wufei with the slide of their bodies.

“This is kind of crucial, Duo,” Wufei panted, even as the drawer’s contents shifted under his questing fingers.

“You want I should stop?” Duo breathed, pinching a nipple as his other hand trailed lower to ghost across the dripping erection at his hips.

“No,” Wufei groaned out, “I just- I can’t find- why is there so much stuff in here?” He sounded totally put out, and Duo opened his mouth to offer assistance when Wufei made a noise of discovery and shut the drawer, dropping a well-used tube and foil wrapper on the bed next to them. He found his mouth suddenly occupied, as Wufei leaned in to plunder his mouth.

Easing back, Wufei hooked Duo’s leg over his elbow, even as he snapped the lid off the tube and squirted gel across his fingers with the ease of long practice.

“Hoarder.” The word was grumbled with warm affection, like it was a compliment, and then fingers were probing at his entrance, Duo sighing into the touch. Wufei stretched him languidly, staring down at him with the same kind of devoted attention he’d paid his knees and ankles, until Duo was arching into his hand and panting, wordlessly begging for more.

Finally, blessedly, the other man was propped over him, weight on his elbows, nipping gently at Duo’s chin and throat as he pressed inwards, filling him up, shifting until the angle made Duo gasp and writhe beneath him. And then Wufei was sliding in long, steady strokes, enough to keep him on edge, and not nearly enough to send him over.

“Please,” Duo gasped out, pulling at the other man insistently, twisting his hips, trying to force him to cooperate.

“Please what?” and Duo was going to remember the amusement in his voice, the teasing, and pay him back for it.

Later.

Next time.

“Harder, faster, something!”

“Like this?” There was a sharp snap that left Duo breathless and seeing stars.

He made an incoherent sound in response.

“Or maybe more like this?” Wufei shifted, and suddenly the planets aligned and the angle was perfect and Duo couldn’t do anything but hold on for the ride.

And what a ride.

When he came it was with shuddering, near-silent pleasure, too breathless for noise, wrapped in Wufei’s embrace, the sensation so acute he could feel tears prickling at his eyelids. He barely heard Wufei’s moan as he tumbled over the edge with him.

They lay together, breathing heavily, for a long time, until Wufei shifted, sliding away, his head pillowed on Duo’s shoulder, no words needed. Duo was carding his fingers through Wufei’s hair when his breathing evened out into the slow, heavy rhythm of sleep.

“Love you,” he breathed, knowing the slumbering man couldn’t hear him.

Suddenly certain that he’d say the words again, later, when Wufei was awake to hear them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, gentle reminder that I have no idea how police or FBI or interagency anything worlds, and I’ve taken all the liberties. All of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to ClaraxBarton who, despite her insanely busy and overwhelming schedule, still found time to beta read and hand hold this fic. You are more than I deserve, but I am so grateful.


End file.
